All in a Day's Work
by Halcris
Summary: Something arouses Doyle's interest, and he manages to bring it to Cowley's attention


**All in a Day's Work.**

Doyle parked his car in the yard at C.I.5's headquarters, and looked round for his partner's vehicle.

They so frequently met and entered together. But today there was no sign of Bodie, so he went in and made his way up to the rest room alone.

He looked at the duty roster. There was nothing there at present, - unusual !

Then the secretary, Betty, came to the door.

"Mr. Cowley has been delayed," she said, "but you are to report to the office as soon as you hear him come in."

"Right, will do," replied Doyle, and she hurried away.

Good, he thought to himself, we might have time to snatch a 'cuppa'. He filled the kettle and put it on, and started getting out the mugs.

Just then, Bodie came breezing in.

"You're a bit late today," Doyle chided his mate.

"Yes," agreed Bodie, "I took a bit of a detour this morning."

He subsided into a chair by the table, and explained.

"Do you remember when Esther was here, and I spent some time in a squat where that lad was murdered."

Doyle nodded. He had fond memories of the Chinese police officer he had worked with then.

"Well," went on Bodie, "I happened to pass that way last night, and there was a fire-engine there, shooting water into the place. I couldn't stop then, but I went round that way to have a look this morning. It's all blackened windows and boarded up."

The owner will be glad," commented Doyle.

"What do you mean,?," asked Bodie curiously.

"Well, he's got rid of his squatters," replied Doyle. "I've been reading an article about these sorts of places. If the owner can get a squat declared a 'fire hazard', he can get official help to evict any squatters who try to move in."

"Little mine of information, aren't you ?, " quipped Bodie.

"Well, I do look a bit further than page three, retorted Doyle.

Bodie tried rather ineffectively to look offended.

Both enjoyed the teasing they shared, and exchanged smiles.

They only had a few minutes to enjoy their quick 'cuppa' before they heard the lift coming up and then familiar brisk footsteps along the corridor.

Cowley was back !

It was evident to Bodie and Doyle as soon as they entered the office, that whatever had delayed him had not pleased their fiery Scottish boss.

So they quickly accepted their orders for some specific enquiries, and escaped as rapidly as possible.

"Wow," said Bodie as they left, "I wouldn't like to be next on his list today !"

"Betty will calm him down," replied Doyle, "She's usually very good at that, thankfully."

But they left the premises as quickly as they could and got on with their designated task. As the day wore on, they only had partial success. With one subject in particular, they seemed to come up against a brick wall. No-one they spoke to could help them.

As they returned to the car after another dead end, Doyle had a sudden thought. "I've just remembered someone who could tell us what we want to know," he exclaimed. "Lemmy Roberts !"

Then he looked thoughtful. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen anything of him for some time," he said. "I'll look him up this afternoon when we separate."

Bodie had an appointment with their medical man to check on an old injury that had been playing up a bit.

So, back in his own car, he set out to find the wily little Cockney, who knew his London so very well.

But he couldn't find him !

Lemmy lived an oddly nomadic kind of life. With no fixed address, he alternated between spells in hostels or in dubious squats, even sleeping rough occasionally when the weather was reasonable.

After failure at several of the little man's favourite haunts, he began to feel a little flicker of concern. Had something happened to him ?

But his next enquiry brought him surprising answers.

A man whom he knew often went around with Lemmy, came out of a hostel just as Doyle reached the door.

He responded quickly to Doyle's enquiry.

"Oh, you won't have heard," he said, "He's away at present. There was a fire at our squat. Lemmy jumped out of a window and broke his leg. He was kept in hospital for a while, but now he's recovering down at his sister's place in Brighton. But he'll be back soon. You can't keep Lemmy out of his London for long !"

"No indeed," replied Doyle, "I wish I'd known. I might have helped him. But when he does get back, get him to contact me. Give him my best wishes."

It was more than a week before he heard any more. He was just walking back to his car, when Lemmy's friend appeared from a doorway and came up to him.

"Lemmy asked me to try and find you, Mr. Doyle," he began, "to let you know he's back and would like to see you."

"Good," replied Doyle, "How is he ?."

"He's still not walking very well" said the man, "but the hospital has helped and found him a place to stay for a while."

He handed Doyle a slip of paper with an address written on it, and then slipped away as stealthily as he had come.

Later that afternoon Doyle pulled his car to a halt outside the designated address. He was a bit surprised, as the house he walked towards looked like an ordinary semi-detached suburban dwelling. But when he rang the bell and was admitted, he found that the interior of the place appeared to have been drastically altered, and it was now a superior type of hostel. A half-open door gave him a glimpse of a neat and tidy dormitory, with a dozen or so beds.

However, having given Lemmy's name to the pleasant woman who had let him in, he was led towards the back of the house and into a pleasing type of conservatory.

There he found Lemmy, ensconced in a comfortable arm-chair, with his leg up on a footstool.

"I'll bring some tea," said his guide, and departed, leaving him to draw up another easy chair beside the invalid.

Doyle looked round appreciatively. "Very nice," he commented. A muffled snort made him return his glance to Lemmy's scowling face.

"What's the matter, Lemmy," he exclaimed. "Don't you like it here ?."

"Too many rules," grumbled the little man.

Doyle smiled to himself. Typical Lemmy ! The extremely independent man lived by his own rules, and detested anything imposed upon him.

"Still it's helping you recover from your accident, isn't it ?," he said in a calming tone.

"Accident !," snapped Lemmy. "Breaking my leg was an accident, but the fire that forced me to jump out of a window wasn't."

"Whatever do you mean ?," asked Doyle curiously.

"Exactly what I said," replied Lemmy, "That fire was caused deliberately."

"You mean arson ?," queried Doyle. "Difficult to prove, Lemmy, those squats are so run down."

"Yes," retorted the little man, "most of them are, but I saw him."

"Saw who ?," demanded Doyle, not understanding.

"Joe Orsini," replied Lemmy. "You look him up in your records, Mr. Doyle and you'll find him. A known clever arsonist, he's done time several times for it."

Doyle thought for a moment, trying to remember if he had come across the name before.

"But, why would he ?," he pondered "Why would he set fire to a derelict little squat ?," But then he remembered the article he had read.

"To get re-possession for the owner !," he exclaimed.

"That's It," said Lemmy excitedly, "You've got it."

He pushed himself more upright in his chair, pleased that he had now got his listener's full attention.

"But you haven't got the whole picture yet, Mr Doyle," he said eagerly. "It's going on all over London. I know of at least three other incidents. Thing is, sooner or later there are going to be deaths ! Some poor old 'wino', too drunk to move, or some stupid addict stoned out of his mind.

(In spite of his erratic lifestyle, Lemmy was neither of these.)

"No great loss, I admit, but they are human beings, and that will make it murder ! It's not right, Mr Doyle."

The little man was getting worked up and agitated, almost jumping out of his chair.

"Calm down, Lemmy," said Doyle, "I've got it now, and I can see why you are so concerned about it. It's a nasty situation, and could easily get nastier, as you point out."

He was now remembering his partner Bodie telling him about a fire at the squat where he had been 'under cover' for a while. So maybe it was more wide-spread than either of them thought.

"I'll make a few enquiries, Lemmy," he said, "and maybe have a word with my boss."

He got up to take his leave.

"You look after yourself, Lemmy," he said, "and I'll get back to you if there are any developments."

He went back to his car in thoughtful mood and returned to base.

During the next few days when he and Bodie were working on rumours of a new drug dealer on the scene, he managed to slip in a few queries of his own. He soon found that what Lemmy had said was true. Similar fires were happening all over the city, but as each borough dealt with its own events, the increasing number of them had not been noticed.

Was this something to be concerned about ?

Eventually he decided to risk being snubbed by his boss, and after he had handed in his current report, he ventured a query.

"Sir," he began tentatively, "I've been hearing from one of my most reliable informers about a sudden increase all over the city of fires in squats. Lemmy is quite certain that a certain well-known arsonist, Joe Orsini, is responsible."

Cowley interrupted him, as he had feared he might.

"Minor fires are hardly our business," he said, but his tone was mild, so Doyle was encouraged to go on.

"Lemmy is mainly afraid someone will get killed," he continued, "but I was wondering whether there wasn't more behind it. Maybe someone knowing about some planned development ?."

He had caught his boss's interest.

"You mean 'insider interest'," said Cowley, "and possible fraud ?"

Doyle nodded.

"I haven't heard anything," said Cowley in a thoughtful tone. "But it is a possibility/ Leave it with me. I'll ask in the right places."

Doyle had to be content with that, and although it lingered in the back of his mind, he gave his full attention to their next task.

But when he found a few minutes to spare, he went and looked up Joe Orsini in Records, and found, as Lemmy had said, that he was a well-known arsonist with a string of convictions. On an impulse he got himself a copy of the latest picture of the man.

But hearing nothing more, he let it slip from his immediate memory

Then something brought it back to him. He got an urgent message through from Lemmy.

"I knew it would happen," it said urgently. "A derelict squat in Brixton. Two young boys had climbed some dodgy stairs and made a 'camp' on the second floor. They didn't survive when the place went up in flames. Neighbours heard them screaming."

This presented a nasty picture to Doyle, and he decided to approach his boss again. But first he visited Brixton police station, and persuaded a former Sergeant he knew to give him a copy of the full report into the incident.

He sat in the car and read through it, but what he found there didn't help him much. The conclusion seemed to be that it was just an unfortunate accident, most likely caused by the boys themselves.

Next time he had a bit of spare time, he went to see Lemmy again and told him what the report had said.

"I know you are probably right about it being Orsini's work," he said, "but there was evidently nothing to arouse police suspicions."

"So there's no proof there," agreed Lemmy rather crossly, "but I have got another lead that might be better," he said eagerly. "Go and talk to Old Betsy. She's at a hostel in Frinton Road. Her squat burned down two nights ago."

As Doyle got up to leave, he added some more words.

"Tell her Lemmy sent you, and said to trust you," he added, "Say Billy would want her too. That'll be a password for her."

As he returned to his car, Doyle considered whether a visit to Old Betsy would be of any value. But as Frinton Road was only two streets away, it wouldn't hurt to try.

He entered the hostel, and used his I.D card to persuade a rather reluctant lady to let him talk to Betsy. He was shown into a small room and found his quarry sitting in a chair by a narrow bed.

Betsy was very much a typical old 'bag lady', suspicious of any unsolicited attention, and she scowled at Doyle.

But when he eased himself down to sit on the bed, and introduced himself, saying at once, "Lemmy sent me," her expression lightened. And when he added, "Lemmy said Billy would like it if you helped me," her tired old face broke into a beam.

"Billy was my mate," she exclaimed, "and Lemmy's too. He died though. Got pneumonia sleeping rough last winter. How can I help ?."

"Lemmy said you had lost your squat," he began.

Betsy was immediately alert and agitated.

"Yes I did !." she exclaimed. "It was a good place, ground floor, dry and free from draughts because the windows were boarded up. I was nicely settled there, had it to myself too, and then this nasty man came along."

She scowled fiercely at the memory.

"What happened ?," queried Doyle eagerly.

"He shouted at me," continued Betsy, "He told me to clear off, get out of there. I argued with him. Said I was entitled to be there. Squatter's rights. He didn't like that. For a moment I thought he was going to actually throw me out. But then he turned away with a nasty laugh."

She frowned, remembering what had come next. He said "Have it your own way then, see if I care. Stay here and burn."

She settled back in her chair.

"I thought I'd got rid of him," she said, "but then in the middle of the night, I smelled smoke. I got up quick and opened the door. Then I saw that the stairs to the next floor were well alight, so I grabbed my stuff quick and got out."

"This man ?," asked Doyle, "What did he look like ?."

Betsy's tired old face screwed up as she tried to think.

"Taller than you, but just as slim. Dark sleeked down hair, dark eyes."

Doyle fished into an inside pocket and brought out the picture he had retrieved from Records. He handed it to her.

"Could it have been him ?," he asked.

Betsy screwed her eyes up and peered closely at the picture. It was obvious that her eyesight wasn't so good.

"He looked a bit older than this," she said at last, "but I'm pretty sure that was him."

Doyle was glad he had bothered to come to see her. Another identification of Orsini had confirmed his feelings that there was something untoward going on. He would gather up all he had learned and take it to Cowley as soon as he could.

He thanked Betsy heartily and left, returning to base.

He found a quiet corner and wrote up his report on the drug enquiries he had been assigned to make, handing it in to Cowley's secretary.

Then he went home, and spent a quiet evening writing up all he had learned from Lemmy, trying to make a neat concise report that would interest his boss, and perhaps evoke some re-action.

Next morning, he was into Headquarters early. Learning from Betty that the boss was already in, he steeled himself, and picking up his report, went along the corridor, tapped on the door, and was called in.

He walked up to the desk as Cowley looked up enquiringly, and handed him the prepared report.

"Sir," he began, "I've been making a few enquiries about that subject I mentioned to you a while ago."

Cowley's first instinct was to chide his agent for spending time and energy on something that was not C.I.5s current business. But then he remembered the full and detailed drug-related report he had just read, more than adequate, and held his tongue.

"Ah, yes" he said, "something about a spate of fires in squats, wasn't it ?. And you thought there might be something behind it."

He gave his agent a calculating look, noting his serious expression.

"Actually," he said, "I did make a few enquiries myself, and there are several developments under consideration at the moment, which might have implications for owners of vacant properties."

He looked at the report in his hand, his interest aroused.

"Leave this with me, Doyle. I'll read it when I've got a moment, and then get back to you."

Doyle had to be satisfied with this, and turned to leave.

"When Bodie gets in, I have a more immediate assignment for you," said Cowley, laying the report down in the centre of his desk.

Doyle returned to the rest room, and put the kettle on. Bodie shouldn't be long, and there might just be time for a quick 'cuppa; before they were sent out on their next task.

Cowley's orders, which concerned some suspicious rumours about some gun-runners, and a suspected stash of imported arms, kept them very busy for the next few days. Eventually the information proved false, and the case was closed without any action.

The next morning when they reported to his office, Doyle was delighted to see, as they entered, his folder in his boss's hand.

"I've read this, Doyle," Cowley began, "Interesting. I don't think there's proof, though, of any deliberate criminal activity by a property owner. Just someone who has heard rumours and has an eye to the main chance."

Doyle's face fell. He was disappointed, but his expression brightened again as Cowley went on.

"However," he said, "this Orsini fellow seems to be a nasty piece of work. As we are not especially busy, it might be an idea to have him in for a little chat, to find out who is paying him.

He put the folder down, and turned to t "So off you go, and see if you can find him." he ordered.

The pair moved off eagerly, this was more active than boring enquiries. But as they reached the door, their boss added a final word.

"Just remember, Bodie, we do need him alive, so he can answer our questions. Dead men don't talk !"

"Where do we start?," asked Bodie, as they made their way down the stairs.

"Well, I've got a 'last known address'," replied his partner, "but I doubt whether that will help as it's years old. But we can try."

They did, and as Doyle had predicted, it was no use at all. Orsini hadn't lived there for ages, and it had changed occupants several times since, so no-one could help them as to where Orsini had gone now.

"Never mind," said Doyle, "let's go and see Lemmy. If he doesn't know, he'll find out for us, and he's crafty enough to be very discreet about it, which is important as we don't want him to know we're after him."

As Lemmy's leg was being annoyingly slow to mend, he was still stuck in the same place.

But his gloomy face brightened up when his visitors were shown in. He was glad to see them, it was clear.

And when Doyle explained to him what they were after, he positively beamed with pleasure.

"I'll find him for you, Mr. D, "he exclaimed joyfully.

Then a quick word from him pre-empted what the curly-haired agent was about to say, "Don't be concerned," he said, "I'm not stupid. I'll be very careful, very discreet. He won't know a thing about it !."

"I know I can trust you," replied Doyle, flashing a smile at the little man who had suddenly found a new lease of life. "You'll let us know as soon as you can ?."

"Yes," replied Lemmy confidently, "I'll get word to you some secretive way, don't fret."

As they walked back to the car, Doyle sang Lemmy's praises.

"He'll do it," he said confidently. "half of London's underworld knows and likes him He'll have an answer soon, I'm sure."

He was right ! Late the following afternoon, the pair emerged from a billiard hall where they had been making enquiries, to find a scruffy ginger-haired urchin lurking near their car. He eyed them up and down as they approached. Then he evidently was re-assured by the look of them, for he sidled up to Doyle.

"You Mr. D ?," he asked. Doyle nodded.

"And he's Mr. B," he added, jerking a thumb at Bodie. Doyle nodded again.

"Lemmy send you ?, he queried, and the urchin grinned widely.

"He said to give you this," he replied, and handed Doyle a slip of paper.

Then he was gone, quickly running out of sight down the next alley.

Doyle un-folded the paper, to find, as he had half expected, a scribbled address.

Good old Lemmy !

He showed the slip to his partner.

"I know where that is, "he said confidently. "It's a bit way out in the suburbs, old properties, a bit run down."

"Not exactly salubrious, then," commented Bodie facetiously.

"As if we care," retorted Doyle. "It's the man we're interested in, not his home life."

"Right," agreed Bodie, "So let's go and get him."

It took them quite a while to reach the address they had been given, as it was way out in the suburbs, but they found it eventually.

Orsini's home, probably inherited from his parents, was the third one in from the end, in a row of small terraced houses. There was no access to the back for any of the houses, but there was an alley which probably meant a lane running along the back, giving access to long narrow back gardens, a very familiar pattern in such old properties.

Doyle and Bodie made their plans. Doyle took out a coin and tossed it.

This time he won the toss and grinned widely.

"I'll take the front." he said. "I'll give you two minutes to get round to the back and find the right garden in case he bolts that way, and then I'll go in."

"Fine," replied Bodie and shot off down the narrow alley.

A very reasonable plan, but unfortunately it didn't work out.

As it happened, Orsini was up in his bedroom, changing before going out. He heard a car draw up, and glanced out of the window. He was a bit surprised to see the sleek silver Capri parked further along the round. They rarely saw such smart cars in this run-down area. He was curious, and remained by the window.

He watched the two men get out of the car, and apparently check their watches. Maybe they've got an appointment, he thought idly.

But then he saw one of them move off in the direction of the alley that led round the back !

Instantly his natural instincts were alerted. Because of his profession he was always on edge, aware that there could be those after him.

Grabbing his jacket from the bed, and donning it as he went, he shot down the stairs, along the narrow hall, through the kitchen and out of the back door.

He raced down the ill-kempt garden and through the back gate.

But as he turned to speed down the alley out to the road, he got a bit of a shock. Advancing towards him was a tall dark-haired man, and he didn't look too friendly.

Orsini turned on his heels and dashed off in the opposite direction. The lane continued to the end of the row of houses. It was a dead end but there was a broken-down wire fence there which gave access to a stretch of rough ground, which led to a steep embankment going up to the railway line on the top.

Orsini had exited this way often on his way to some of his more nefarious activities, and began to charge up the slope. He could hear feet pounding behind him, and knew the man he had seen was after him and gaining fast.

Doyle had opened Orsini's door easily, and stepped in. He was just in time, as he charged forward, to see Orsini's flying shape dashing into the kitchen and out into the garden.

I hope Bodie's ready for him, he thought, as he followed quickly. He hurried down the overgrown garden, almost tripping over a pile of old flower-pots, which clattered down noisily as he dashed out of the gate. He just caught a glimpse of Bodie's flying figure disappearing down the far end of the lane, and shot after him.

By the time he reached the end of the lane and climbed over the broken-down wire fence, the two figures he was pursuing were half-way up the rough grassy slope of the railway embankment. He set off after them.

I hope Bodie knows that's a railway line he's heading for, he thought. Not the safest of places, and we want this man alive !

Then his sensitive ears picked up a distant rumble. It was only a small local line, with little traffic, but that sounded like a train coming ? How near was it ?

The other two were almost at the top.

He tried to quicken his pace up the steep rough embankment.

That proved to be an unfortunate mis-judgement. Scrabbling upward, he caught his foot in a long-abandoned rabbit hole, hidden in the long straggly grass. He felt a painful wrench as he pitched forward, to fall flat on his face, narrowly missing a patch of nettles.

Before he managed to raise his head, he heard a loud yell, and then the roar and rattle of a train rushing past up above him.

When he pushed himself up onto his knees and gazed upwards, there was nothing to see. No sign of either man who had been there a moment before.

He held his breath, expecting any moment to hear the screech of brakes halting the train. Surely that would happen if the driver felt he'd hit something.

But no such sound came, and the rumbling noise quickly diminished as the rattling train sped out of sight round the bend.

He scrambled up, wincing as he put his foot to the ground. Feels like a nasty sprain, he thought, but ignored it, as he hobbled as fast as he could up the rest of the sloping embankment.

What would he find ? His fertile imagination painted a gory possibility.

But to his surprise, and great relief, as he neared the top, two heads came into view.

And there was Bodie, safe and unharmed, pushing a cowed and reluctant Orsini before him.

"Are you all right ?," Doyle asked anxiously/

"I'm fine," replied his mate. "Missed the train, didn't I," he added, making a joke out of what could have been something very nasty.

He pushed Orsini back across the line, and started down the slope.

Doyle turned and began to limp carefully down the steep bank.

"Hey, what have you done, mate ?," exclaimed Bodie.

"Sprained my ankle, I think," said Doyle ruefully.

"Bad luck," said Bodie. "However at least we've got 'Mr Arsonist ' alive.! That'll please the boss."

"Yes," agreed Doyle, "So let's get him back to the Interrogation Centre."

It was rather a slow procession that made its way back along the narrow lane and back out to the car.

Bodie had his hands full hanging onto Orsini, who was still putting up a rather feeble resistance, and so couldn't give any help to his partner, who limped gamely along behind them. But eventually they made it to the car, and then things moved faster.

Bodie pulled up in front off the Interrogation Centre, hauled his prisoner out and handed him into the custody of the senior agent there.

"Hang onto him," he ordered, "Mr. Cowley wants a word or two with him."

Then he shot back to base to report the successful pick-up. He dropped his partner off with their medical man on the way. The doctor examined the injury, declared it only a bad sprain, not a break, and strapped it up securely. So Doyle was able to limp up the stairs and join his partner in Cowley's office.

Their boss was pleased with their report. He folded up the papers he had been working on, replaced them in their folder, and stood up.

"Let's go and have a word with Mr. Orsini," he said, and made for the door.

He was not so pleased when he noticed Doyle limping as he hurried to keep up with him and Bodie.

"It's only a slight sprain," said Doyle, apologetically. "It'll soon be better."

"I hope so," snapped Cowley, "We're already a man short."

Orsini had already been brought to an interview room, and was sitting at a table. Cowley moved into the seat opposite, and the other two took up places near the door. Doyle leant wearily against the wall, to rest his foot. It was paining him more than he cared to admit.

Orsini spoke up first. "Why am I here ?," he demanded.

Cowley summoned up an almost amiable smile.

"I just wanted a word with you about some of your recent activities," he began in a friendly tone.

"I don't know what you are talking about," declared Orsini with a defiant stare.

"I've been considering the reports I've been getting about fires damaging squats in various parts of the town," said Cowley mildly.

"So," snapped Orsini, "Nothing to do with me."

"Oh, come," replied Cowley, "All apparently accidental. We know how clever you are, not using an accelerant, to leave no traces."

Orsini let out a gentle laugh.

"Clever, Mr. Cowley," he acknowledged, "but if you think flattery will get me to make admissions, you are wrong. I'm not that stupid."

Bodie and Doyle exchanged smiles. The first effort by their wily boss hadn't worked. What would he try next ?

Cowley tried another tack.

"Do you know Lemmy Roberts ?," he asked in a seemingly idle remark.

"Course I do," exclaimed Orsini excitedly, "Everyone in London knows Lemmy. He's a great guy !."

"He was hurt when his squat was 'fired'," said Cowley.

"Yes, I heard," replied Orsini, "I was sorry about that. I thought he had moved out."

Then he clapped his hand to his mouth, realising he had made an admission.

"Right, so you got me," he said with a grin. "Yes, I have done a few, but I'll deny it and you'll never prove it."

"You are probably right," commented Cowley.

Then, suddenly remembering, Orsini added a protest.

"But I didn't do that one where those kids died," he declared vehemently. "I'm not to blame for that, I swear it !."

He had another thought.

"Actually, I did Lemmy a bit of good," continued Orsini, "he got help and he's in a nice place now."

"And so are several others," admitted Cowley, "Lots of these places are death traps and should be cleared."

"So what do you want of me, then,?," demanded Orsini. And suddenly he realised the answer.

"Oh, no," he said, "if you want me to say who hired me, no way ! I'd never work again, if I 'grassed'."

Cowley looked thoughtful, and spoke again in a deceptively mild tone.

"Have you ever considered why they hire you ?," he asked gently. "They are a crafty, greedy lot. They have heard rumours of big housing developments. What you do, frees up their properties so that they will be able to ask for exorbitant prices if their places are involved."

A puzzled look came over Orsini's face. It was clear he had never really considered that aspect of things.

"I didn't know that," he said thoughtfully. Then a look of anger came over his face.

"I think I've been used," he snapped, "But it still wouldn't be safe for me to give you names."

"We're not asking you to," said Cowley surprisingly. "We can get those in other ways."

In fact he had already done so. He had found out the names of most of the owners of the properties that had been damaged, and many of them had already received a sternly worded anonymous message, warning them to 'watch their step'.

He hoped that would put an end to what had been going on. It certainly seemed as if Orsini would be having second thoughts about it.

He turned to the two equalled surprised men behind him.

"Mr. Orsini is free to go," he said, "It would courteous of you to give him a lift home, as he lives a good way out."

Both men were astounded, but from experience, knew better than to query any order from their fiery boss.

Without comment, they escorted Orsini from the room, out to their car, and drove him all the way out to his home in the suburbs. The outward journey was a silent one, but on the way back they had plenty to say about the devious methods so often employed by Cowley.

"All our hard work" complained Doyle, "and what do we get out of it ? I get a sprained ankle, and you almost had an encounter with a train."

"And our arsonist gets away with it," agreed Bodie

"But it is your own fault, mate," he added with a sudden grin.

"What do you mean ?," protested Doyle," How is it my fault ?"

"Well you went investigating, didn't you" said Bodie," and then took it to Cowley."

"You helped," retorted Doyle, "You told me about that squat you were at getting 'fired' and that started me off."

"But I didn't make you follow it up, did I?" replied Bodie, "that was your own idea."

"I suppose so," agreed Doyle, "and then Cowley took it over, and played it his way."

He scowled fiercely.

"I do wish sometimes that he let us in on his plans more," he said in a disgruntled tone. "He just makes his own arrangements and issues orders."

"Still", said Bodie finally, "Ours not to reason why"

"No," agreed Doyle, "we just have to do as we're told."

He shook his curly head ruefully.

"You know what, we're just 'hired hands' !." he grumbled.

"Right," said Bodie cheerfully, "so how about we go and get these 'hired hands' nicely round a glass of beer ?"

"Great idea !," said Doyle, cheering up immediately. "Let's do it."

Bodie eased his foot slightly more heavily on the accelerator, as he considered which of their favourite pubs was the nearest., and the pair shot off to enjoy a pleasant evening together.

This case was closed, maybe not as satisfactorily as they would have liked, but no longer their concern.


End file.
